


the moon laughs

by shirohyasha



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, Shinobi AU, Tenka Muteki no Shinobi Michi AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-09 06:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17996246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirohyasha/pseuds/shirohyasha
Summary: “Are you sure this is wise?” Ranmaru says. “This is a long journey. It’d be safer for the Lord if there were more of us.”“Are you implying that the three of you are underqualified?” the Daimyo asks. “I asked for the best.”“Understood, Your Excellence,” Ranmaru says, and bows. Masato can see the irritation in his jawline, but the Daimyo won’t be able to.The Daimyo sends the best shinobi in his service to guard his brother on a week-long journey. Things do not go according to anyone's plans.





	the moon laughs

**Author's Note:**

> wassup it's the au literally no one but me has been waiting for
> 
> a few notes: first, my primary source of knowledge about shinobi is "that time i got really mad about naruto and googled ninja", so take everything with a pinch of salt. second, this isn't historically accurate even ignoring the ninja aspect of things because horse-drawn carraiges weren't a thing in japan until much later than this is set (sometime during the sengoku era) but it made far more narrative sense to have one. third, masato is buff as fuck in this au, and ren is a skinny little twink. that's not important to the plot, but i need you all to know it.

When Masato was seventeen, he’d spent three months of his training learning to be ordinary. He wasn’t ordinary by that point, not by a long shot, but he’d learned how to walk and speak and stand like someone who was. He learned to be a peasant and he learned to be a merchant and he learned to be a shinobi, who all walk and speak and stand with the same tone, with the same mannerisms. They have to be indistinct. They have to be uniform. They have to be able to stand in a crowd of other shinobi and not have an observer be able to pick him out. Their masks are all identical.

And yet. And yet, Ren is still staring at him with his eyes slightly narrowed, and Masato knows exactly what he’s thinking.

It’s been a while. It’s been a while since Masato was in a house as elegant as this one, actually, and it’s been longer still since he’s seen Ren.

Syo breathes quietly beside him. “Relax,” he says on the exhale, quiet enough that the chatter of the two civilians will block it from Ranmaru. The civilians won’t hear him. They never do. “What’s up?”

“Long story,” Masato says, in as few syllables as possible. “Explain later.”

“Are you sure this is wise?” Ranmaru says in front of him. “This is a long journey. It’d be safer for the Lord if there were more of us.”

“Are you implying that the three of you are underqualified?” the Daimyo asks. “I asked for the best.”

“Understood, Your Excellence,” Ranmaru says, and bows. Masato can see the irritation in his jawline, but the Daimyo won’t be able to. “And we are to depart now?”

“You are,” the Daimyo says. “Ren.”

“Lord Brother,” Ren says, in the same tone he’s always said it. “I’ll be seeing you. Or not, I suppose.”

“You would do well to lose the attitude, Ren,” the Daimyo says. “It will not serve you well in your new home.”

“But of course,” says Ren. “Farewell, Lord Brother.”

“Goodbye, Ren.”

The Daimyo gestures, and a not insignificant number of servants lead the four of them out of the hall and to the front of the house. There are horses, and a carriage, and some of the servants join the procession and others just load Ren’s possessions into the carts and leave.

Masato and Syo head for their horses. Their horses are well-bred and used to them, and more importantly they don’t startle at loud noises. A servant brings their previously confiscated swords to them, and Masato hangs his at his waist with a sense of comfort. He doesn’t like being without his sword.

He’d had other weapons, of course. Several knives in various holsters, a belt full of caltrops, sleeves full of kunai. But he likes having his sword. People are less likely to try and stab him when he’s got his sword. He’s tested it.

Ren gets into the carriage. No one comes to say goodbye, and Masato hadn’t expected anyone to. His parents are dead. The eldest of the three brothers has never cared for him and the second has been travelling for years. Ren was always popular, but Masato doesn’t suppose his rumoured parade of girlfriends will come to see him off for this.

Syo heads to the front of the procession. Masato takes the rear. Ranmaru rides alongside the carriage. There is only one person who would really benefit from Ren’s assassination, so they’re not overly worried, but random bandits are not unlikely.

They set off.

 

The procession stops at nightfall. The servants pitch tents. Ranmaru and Ren vanish into the forest. Syo and Masato find perches overlooking their makeshift campsite and take stock of their company.

It’s… lacking.

The servants look uncomfortable in the forest, in the dark. One of them looks openly freaked out, and the other three are quiet and meek. They start preparing food quietly.

“If we are attacked, they’re gonna be useless,” Syo says.

“They are going to be liabilities,” Masato corrects. “They will be easy to take as hostages.”

“People don’t take hostages against shinobi,” Syo points out glumly. “There’s no point.”

Masato agrees, silently, and they stare at the servants a bit more.

“They’re pretty good servants,” Syo allows. “But pampered rich ones. Hey, Kage. Did you have servants like this?”

“No,” Masato says. “My father did, but they did not serve me.”

“Wow, cold,” Syo says. “Oh, that reminds me. How come Lord Jinguji was staring at you?”

“We played together as children,” Masato says. “We are the same age, and my father’s family serve his. I doubt he remembers me all that well.”

“He sure thinks he does,” Syo says. “You gonna talk to him?”

“I see no reason to,” Masato says. “It is unlikely I will.”

Ranmaru and Ren appear on the other side of the clearing. Ranmaru’s eyes immediately land on Syo and Masato in the trees. Ren watches Ranmaru instead, and then follows his gaze, but it’s clear he can’t see them.

“He’s got fancy clothes,” Syo mutters. Ren’s clothes are simple and plain, not nearly as nice as some of the things Masato has seen him wearing, but the material is thick and of the highest quality and Ren moves with such grace that he could wear the garb of the peasantry and still look elegant.

“He will not get cold,” Masato allows.

Syo groans. “I’m freezing already,” he groans. “If anyone attacks, I might be iced to the tree. You’re gonna have to defend our Lord on your own.”

“Yusuke,” Masato reprimands. “We are on duty.”

“I know, I know,” Syo says. “Hey, go ask the captain if we should be doing anything, or if regular patrol’s fine.”

“You should go,” Masato tells him. Syo looks at him, unimpressed.

“You’re not going to make this difficult, are you?” he asks. “Because the Daimyo specifically asked for the best, and that’s us three, so if we have to get someone else in the captain’s gonna be mad.”

“I will not jeopardise the mission,” Masato says. “Now go.”

Syo jumps down from the tree and runs over to the carriage, where Ren and Ranmaru are climbing back inside. Masato takes a moment to lament everything.

 

The trip lasts a week. Masato will take the first shift of the night and Syo will take the second, sat outside the carriage in the shadows. Kurosaki is asleep in the carriage, ready to wake at the slightest provocation.

Masato’s clothes are dark brown. He can’t see his own limbs in the darkness but he can make out the sky’s shape, slightly brighter than the black tops of the trees. It’s cloudy and it’s freezing and Masato is perfectly still, and if he’s not careful lethargy will overwhelm him and his reaction times will slow.

He recites poetry in his head, takes stock of all his weapons. There is nothing to look at to entertain him – no stars, no trees, not even blades of grass to count in the dark. He has eighteen kunai in his sleeves, forty-seven caltrops in his belt. His sword is at his side. There is a knife at his ankle, one at his collarbone, a third in the holster that sits horizontally across the small of his back. His arms are slightly warmer than the rest of him, his forearms wrapped with reinforced leather gauntlets that can deflect a glancing blow. Stronger armour is far too heavy for this long trip.

He’s worried. He can’t not be worried. Their carriage doesn’t _look_ like much, but anyone with a particularly discerning eye could see that there’s more to them than first appears and bandits are not uncommon. Ren himself is a high-risk target, though supposedly no one knows the route they’re taking or even that he’s travelling now.

Ren’s brother has never particularly liked Ren, and the sentiment has always been mutual. Additionally, Ren is the only legitimate threat to his power, at least until he manages to have a son. So far, he has not. This trip will take Ren far enough from the seat of the Daimyo’s power that he won’t be much of a threat, but it would be more convenient still for him if Ren were to die.

If the Daimyo ordered Masato to kill Ren, Masato would be bound by duty to obey. In the absence of such an order, Masato is bound by duty to protect Ren, and bound again by this particular mission.

He ponders on the dilemma, and can only bring himself to be grateful that even if, theoretically, the Daimyo has sent people to kill Ren, at least he didn’t send Masato.

 

Syo appears halfway through the night. They’re all well enough trained not to sleep more than four hours in a tree and Masato stands, stretches out his freezing aching limbs and raps twice, quietly, on the hard wood outside of the carriage. Ranmaru knocks back twice, and then Masato’s shift is over and it’s his turn to sleep.

He curls up at the foot of a tree with the blanket Syo had passed to him and falls asleep in seconds.

 

Masato wakes a few moments before the camp is completely packed up. The tents are down, the fire is out, and the servants are just feeding and watering the horses, waiting to leave. Ren and Ranmaru are nowhere to be seen. Syo is in the branches of the tree he slept under.

“Nothing occurred,” Masato says. It’s not a question.

“Nothing occurred,” Syo confirms. “Hey, get up here.”

Masato climbs the tree with a little more difficulty than it should have taken him and Syo passes him a flask of water and a bowl. The chopsticks are poking out of it, and Masato scowls at them.

“Oh for – even after all this time, you’re so picky about manners,” Syo mutters. “I climbed this tree one handed, you ass. Where was I supposed to put them?”

“Thank you for the food,” Masato says, and takes the bowl. The rice is almost warm. It’s warmer than he is.

“This mission is going to suck,” Syo says. “I’m already tired.”

“As am I,” Masato admits. “We should be able to rest better at the inn tonight, though the town has a festival on.”

“Festivals are terrible.” Syo had been sharpening one of his knives, though he prefers not to use them to fight. “And after that?”

“There are just under three days travelling to another town, and then the rest of the trip is through a relatively populated area,” Masato tells him. “However, it is mainly farmland and hamlets.”

“Anywhere is relatively populated compared to the middle of a forest,” Syo agrees. “But at least the roads will be better.”

Masato finishes his rice and nods. “Indeed. But we will need to remain vigilant.”

“Got it,” Syo says.

The two of them sit and watch over the camp for a few more minutes, until Ranmaru appears out of the carriage and waves a hand in their general direction. They jump down from the tree and Masato gives his bowl to one of the servants, and then they’re ready to set off.

Syo and Ranmaru are pretty comfortable on their horses too. The servants are walking. This is going to be a long trip. Masato and Syo could do it in less than three days alone, but of course they’d be travelling much, much lighter than this.

Ren is alone in his carriage. Masato stares at the back of it.

Being hired as a guard is tedious work. Masato has never favoured it, but of course he takes every job he’s given without complaint. And it’s not as unpleasant as some of the work they’re ordered to do, though the past few years have been peaceful enough, in their area at least.

He catches a knife out of the air, and glances up, puzzled.

“Is something wrong, captain?” he asks. Ranmaru glares at him.

“Pay attention, Kage,” he grunts. “I can see you zoning out from here.”

Masato nods. “I apologise,” he says, and tucks the knife into his belt where it won’t slip. Ranmaru eyes him warily for a moment, but gives up and turns back to face forwards.

 

They reach the town ahead of schedule, so Ranmaru comes to inform them that Ren wanted to go sightseeing.

“Stupid fucking rich kid,” he grumbles. “This place is gonna be a nightmare to protect him. Can’t he just stay put?”

Masato goes to pull his mask up, but Ranmaru shakes his head. “Nope. Civilian clothes. There’s nowhere to hide in this town, so we’re blending in. Take a bath and get changed.”

Masato carefully doesn’t look stricken. Syo kicks him once Ranmaru’s out of the room.

“You’re being weird,” he says. “You’ve been weird since yesterday.”

Masato strips down and put the inn-provided yukata on. He has to admit it’ll be nice to wash the grime from travelling off. “You are imagining things,” he tells Syo. “Hurry. We cannot keep Lord Jinguji waiting.”

He puts as many weapons as will fit into an oilskin bag and hides it in his sleeve before heading for the bath. Syo follows behind, having presumably done the same, snarling quietly because he’d had to take the yukata meant for children.

It’s early, which means the baths are empty. Masato leaves his weapons on top of his piled towels and washes himself as quickly as he can, before glancing into the steamy bath. It’s hard to make out anything in there; it’ll be hard to see threats through the steam. Masato scowls at it and hopes Ren won’t decide he wants to soak in there.

Masato’s civilian disguise is a lot like his practical travelling wear, except the sleeves are even more impractically full, but at least he can hide more knives in them. They’re a nicer colour too, a rich deep blue rather than the dusty brown of his usual kimono. He fixes his outer layers into place, hangs his sword at his waist and affixes a tassel to it, and carefully combs through his hair. He can hear Syo doing the same on the other side of the room, with the occasional muttered curse.

“Yes, yes, you look like a pair of stupid rich samurai kids, now can we go?” Ranmaru snaps from the doorway. He looks uncomfortable in similar attire. Masato turns to him.

“Who is looking after Lord Jinguji?” he asks.

“He’s in his room. If he can die in there, we can’t help him,” Ranmaru says. “This place is like a maze.”

Masato’s lips twitch a little, and he and Syo follow Ranmaru to Ren’s rooms. They’re nicer than the ones Masato and Syo have been given, for obvious reasons.

“Lord?” Ranmaru asks, knocking on the wood. “Are you ready to leave?”

Ren opens the door. “You’re being very accommodating of this, Ran,” he says, cheerful. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re aware of the risk,” Ranmaru says through his teeth. “My advice would be to remain in the inn until tomorrow morning.”

“I suppose it would be,” Ren says mildly. “It can’t hurt. It’s such a charming little town.”

Masato supposes that the decorations for the festival had been pleasant, but not really enough to risk exposing Ren to danger. He sighs, inaudibly and undetectably.

Ren’s eyes find him anyway. “I thought so,” he murmurs, and doesn’t say anything more. Masato stares back, unflinching.

“You ready, lord?” Ranmaru asks. Ren laughs.

“You’re refreshingly rude to me,” he says, smiling. “I am. Shall we go?”

Ren falls into step beside Masato, who nods once to him before returning his eyes to their surroundings. There are stalls everywhere, colourfully decorated with hangings and lanterns, food sizzling over hot coals at the sides of the roads.

“What’s the festival for?” Ren wonders.

“One of four quarterly ones to give thanks to the four local gods,” Masato says. “This is a small town. There will not be fireworks.”

Ren turns to him. “You studied up on this place?” he asks. Masato nods.

“I did,” he says. Syo nudges him.

“Kage knows everything,” he tells Ren, his words polite, his voice refined. He’s an entirely different man to the one on the road, and despite Masato’s preference for politeness, he prefers it when Syo is rougher than this. “It’s his job.”

“I see,” Ren says, amused. “And what’s your job, shorty?”

“Don’t – ahem. Please refrain from using that nickname,” Syo says.

“Yusuke is particularly good at combat,” Masato says lightly. “As is the captain. Both far exceed my capabilities.”

“Don’t be modest, Kage,” Syo says. Ranmaru trails behind them, eyes burning into everyone who passes them. It could be nice, perhaps, visiting a festival like this. It has been a long, long time since Masato went to one, longer still since he went to one with Ren. He wants to wish he could relax, but he can’t. He’s here for duty’s sake only, and he can’t allow himself to be distracted.

Ren turns to wave at a girl calling them from a stall. She’s selling steamed buns and Ren fiddles with his money pouch for a moment.

They stick out, a little, four clearly wealthy samurai in such a small town. But there is an inn here, and the route they’re taking is fairly well-travelled, so Masato had deemed it an acceptable risk for them to take.

Ren returns to their little huddle with four steamed buns and passes them out. He doesn’t let go of Masato’s for a moment, trapping his hand. Ren’s hand seems hotter than the bun is, though that’s not possible.

“Kage?” he asks.

“My name,” says Masato.

Ren lets go of the bun. “I see.”

The four of them wander through the town for a while. Ren buys a hairpin and a small wooden doll, chats happily with the stall owners for a few minutes each time. The three of them blend in perfectly, trained as they have been, though Ranmaru’s naturally sulky demeanour can’t be helped.

They head back to the inn as the moon climbs over the treetops, and get dinner. The four of them eat together, keeping their disguise up, and manage to make small talk between dishes.

“My lord,” Ranmaru says, through gritted teeth. “It would be prudent for us all to stop drinking.”

Ren laughs and waves a hand. He laughs a lot, and it never seems quite real. Masato isn’t sure if he can tell because he’s been trained to see such things, or if he can tell because it’s Ren.

“I know, I know,” he says, laughing. “We should head up to our rooms now. We’ve got an early start tomorrow!”

He sounds like an ordinary young man, eager to get back to his wife and family. No one particularly important. No one as important as he is.

“Kage, first shift. Yusuke, take second. I’ll take third,” Ranmaru grunts. “Everyone back to their rooms.”

“Understood,” Masato says quietly. He follows Ren up to his rooms, checks through each one carefully. He returns to the main one and sits at the table when Ren gestures for him to so.

“Do you need anything?” Ren asks.

“I do not, thank you,” Masato tells him.

“Can I talk, or do you need silence?” he says.

“You may do as you wish,” Masato says, and Ren snorts.

“Are you really still mad with me?” he asks. Masato raises his eyebrows.

“I was never angry with you. It would not be appropriate,” he says.

Ren sits opposite him, cross legged just to irritate him, Masato is sure. “Oh, come on,” he says. “When has that ever mattered for us?”

“It matters now,” says Masato. “It is my duty to keep you safe.”

“Alright,” Ren says. “Because I’m still mad at you.”

Masato fights to keep his face impassive. “It would not be unreasonable of you to be,” he says.

“You’re the worst,” Ren says. “You won't even apologise?”

Masato has thought about the decision he made every single day since he made it. He can't think of a way around it. “I would do the same thing again," says Masato. "I will not apologise for taking the best course of action."

Ren glares up at him from where he’s pillowed his head on the table. “You piss me off. Drink with me.”

“That would be unwise. I am on duty,” Masato tells him. Ren grins. His eyes are glassy.

“You drank earlier,” he says. “You were on duty then.”

“The benefits of maintaining our disguise outweighed the possible risks of delaying our reaction times if we miscalculated how much to drink,” Masato tells him. “I would advise that you do not drink either. We have an early start tomorrow.”

“You’re still stuffy,” Ren observes. “You might be stuffier than ever, actually.”

“And you are still a brat,” Masato tells him. “Go to sleep, Lord Jinguji. There’s no reason for you to stay awake.”

Ren sits up, and props his chin on his hand. “How have you been?” he asks. “You never wrote.”

His voice is light. Masato’s stomach is heavy.

“It was discouraged,” Masato tells him. “I have been well. Have you?”

Ren smiles at him. “I’m doing great,” he says.

“Liar,” Masato says. “Play something for me.”

It’s a terribly inappropriate request, and he’s phrased it like an order. But Ren smiles at him like none of that matters, and gets up to look through his things.

He sits back down and unwraps his koto from its protective sheets. The instrument is as beautiful as it was when Masato last saw it six years ago.

He hums as he plays. The sound is quiet, and the room echoes it back all wrong. But it’s still beautiful. Masato is still breathless.

“You didn’t give up,” he says, once Ren’s hands have stilled and the last note faded. “I thought you might. Out of spite.”

Ren smiles, very brittle. “I tried. I never could.”

Masato looks at the instrument instead of Ren. “I wanted to write,” he says. “But it was discouraged. I can only see my sister once a year. I would have written.”

Ren stands up. “I’m going to bed,” he says. “Goodnight, Kage.”

“Please rest well, Lord Jinguji,” Masato says, and doesn’t look up until Ren has gone.

Syo finds him later, knelt at the table, staring at the wall. He sighs.

“Were you two – you know – a thing?” he asks. “Because you know we’re taking him to his wedding. You really shouldn’t look like that.”

Masato knows for a fact his face is as expressionless as anything. He knows this because he’s got his mask up again.

“I will not be compromised,” Masato tells him. “Excuse me, Yusuke.”

“Get some rest, asshole,” Syo says. “I’m the one with the middle shift. I’m the one who’s suffering here.”

“Thanks for your hard work,” Masato says quietly, and goes.

 

They wake early the next morning, and eat a hastily prepared, but more importantly, hot, breakfast. Masato barely tastes it, trying his hardest to act as normal.

“Relax, idiot,” Ranmaru says. “Whatever’s going on with you, cut it out.”

Syo gives him a look, but changes the subject anyway. “Do you think it’s strange that there are only three of us,” he says. “This isn’t a dangerous route, but it’s long, and there are eight of us. That’s enough that it’s likely at least one of us is a target worth robbing.”

“Not much risk of bandits,” Ranmaru says, but he’s frowning.

“Bandits are not my first concern,” Masato admits. “We’re barely sleeping.”

Ranmaru does look tired. He knows he does too. Syo looks the most tired of them all, disrupted sleep taking its toll.

“Just stay alert,” Ranmaru tells them.

Syo mumbles something incoherent under his breath and Ranmaru and Masato turn to him, huddle in closer so their lips can’t be read. “I don’t like this job. I don’t trust it.”

“That’s treason, Kurusu,” Masato breathes.

“I know that?” he hisses. “But what am I supposed to think? That the Daimyo really thinks it’s safe to send his brother on a week-long journey in the dead of winter with three guards and four deadweight servants? There’s no way he’s that stupid.”

“We do our jobs,” Ranmaru mutters. “We keep him alive until we reach our destination, and if we have to kill people to do it, then we do.”

“Understood,” Masato says, and the three of them sit back.

“Right. Let’s go.” Syo stands up. “What is this, the third day? We’ve still got ages to go.”

“Don’t complain,” Masato tells him. “We are duty-bound to complete this mission.”

“I know, I know,” Syo says. “But I don’t have to like it.”

 

Masato takes the lead of the procession this time, and Syo and Ranmaru ride behind the carriage. By the time the sun is up, weak and pale in the winter sky, he’s managed to shake off his exhaustion and is fully awake and alert. His horse is steady and calm beneath him. He’s almost able to pretend this is an ordinary mission, one that won’t end badly no matter what he does.

The sun reaches its peak far too soon and begins sinking quickly. The days are short and cold and Masato is freezing, even if he manages to ignore it. Ranmaru rides up beside him, a short while later.

“We’re not stopping today,” he says. “Eat something now.”

“Understood,” Masato replies. “Should I stay in the lead?”

Ranmaru shakes his head. “Go to the back,” he says. “And stop freaking out about every shadow.”

“That’s my job,” Masato says. “Sir.”

Ranmaru cuffs the back of his head and sighs. “You’re still an idiot,” he says. “Get lost.”

Masato pulls out a ration bar and chews on it, slowly. It tastes of very little. The day drags on, and the forest never seems to change, and Masato’s eyes are getting tired of the repetitive scenery. The sky is as bland as the trees, a solid, uninterrupted sheet of low grey cloud over a solid uninterrupted sheet of dark green-brown.

They stop for the night once the evening has grown so dark as to be unsafe for travel. They light a fire and the servants pitch their tents, and Masato and Syo sit on the floor outside the carriage and wait for Ranmaru to give them orders.

The servants prepare the food and Masato and Syo are so tired they can’t bring themselves to care that it’s bland and watery, tasteless and dull. Ranmaru is faring a little better, and looks at the two of them.

“Yusuke. Go to sleep,” he says, and shoos Syo towards the trees. Syo grabs the blankets and traipses away.

Masato stands up and stretches himself. “I’m going to patrol,” he says. He’ll fall asleep if he sits still for another four hours.

Ranmaru nods and climbs into the carriage. Masato climbs a tree and stares out across the campsite. The fire is dying down, and only one servant remains awake. He can’t help but feel like they’re waiting for an ambush.

 

The next day is very similar, except Masato is even more tired today. He’d had four hours sleep, which is normally enough for him, but he’s been sleeping too little for three days now and it’s starting to take its toll. He’s almost certain there will be an attack, but still can’t quite shake off his grogginess.

He rides up to the carriage and raps on the side, and Ren glances out, puzzled.

“What is it, Kage?” he asks.

“Our bows are stored in the carriage,” he says. “Please allow me to retrieve them.”

Ren opens the door and Masato jumps from his horse into the carriage. His horse trots along calmly, not at all alarmed by her sudden lack of a rider, and Masato is once again pleased at her training.

The bows are stored carefully against the wall, and he unwraps them and checks them over quickly before bowing to Ren and climbing back onto his horse.

“Yusuke,” he calls. Syo has already slowed to match the pace of the carriage, but Masato doesn’t give him his bow. He urges his horse forward, and Ranmaru climbs down from his own horse and hands its reins to one of the servants.

“Yusuke,” Masato calls again. “Scout.”

Ranmaru gets into the carriage. Syo leaps from his horse and vanishes into the trees. Masato has yet to meet a shinobi who can actually breathe fire or walk on water, but all of them are capable of vanishing into the shadows and scaling trees to observe their surroundings.

Syo returns a few moments later and gives the signal for _something._ Masato hands him his bow and quiver, and the two of them ride close to the carriage for a few more paces.

The arrow is not a surprise. It hits one of the two horses pulling the carriage, and Masato fires off an arrow into the trees before it finishes quivering. The horse screams.

Another arrow hits the driver. A third flies over Masato’s horse, where he had been sitting a moment before, but he’d already leapt down and is sprinting for the trees.

“Everybody down,” he snaps, loud enough to carry. “Head for the trees.”

Their assailants are definitely in the trees, but at least there’s cover here. He scales one as quickly as he can and scans around frantically. There’s no movement. The doors to the carriage remain firmly shut.

Syo is in the trees too, a vague dark shape at the top of another tree that Masato can only see because he knows Syo’s habits.

An arrow hits the side of the carriage, but either the archer was sub-par or poorly placed, because it doesn’t do more than dent it. Masato fires thoughtlessly in the direction the shot came from and hears a distant shriek, but more arrows are incoming.

They’re coming from two locations and Masato clings to his branch with his thighs and fires off arrows as quickly as he can in their directions. He’s too high up for their return shots to reach him, and he’s not their main target anyway, so he’s definitely got the advantage, unless there are more than two of them and they send someone with a knife.

Syo has vanished from his tree. The servants are small fry, not worth attacking or defending, mostly cowering on the fringes of the forest, praying not to be hit. Masato doesn’t have time to think about them.

He hears a scream, and the arrows from one of the two attackers stop. The other stops shooting a moment later, and Syo appears at the base of his tree after a few seconds. He’s bloody.

“I got one of them,” he says. “The other ran.”

“Understood,” Masato says, and begins climbing down the tree. He’d managed to scale it so quickly with his huge awkward bow slung across his back out of desperation, but now that the risk is over he realises how cumbersome it is.

“How did you even get up there?” Syo asks, making no effort to help him. “Wow.”

“Go back to the captain,” Masato tells him. “Find out if there were any other casualties.”

Masato lands on the floor a few moments later, and sprints back to the carriage. The driver was the only casualty. The other three servants are huddled together, fearful, and Syo and Ranmaru are stood grimly at the carriage door.

“What do we do now, captain?” Masato asks. Ranmaru is scowling deeply.

“Wrap him up. We’ll clear out one of the carts and put him in it. He won’t add that much extra weight.” Ranmaru sighs, and takes Syo’s bow off of him, holds his hand out for Masato’s. “The two of you are uninjured?” he asks. “Good. How far to the next town?”

“If we hurry, we’ll be there by tomorrow night,” says Masato. “If we’re attacked again, it could take longer.”

“When we’re attacked,” Ranmaru corrects him. Masato hadn’t wanted to scare the servants, but Ranmaru apparently holds no such reservations. “Those weren't bandits. Their weapons were the real deal. You killed one of them?”

“Yusuke did,” Masato says. “The other escaped.”

Ranmaru nods, slowly. “Calm the horses and get them ready,” he barks. “The nearest town is a full day away, and we’re going to be attacked. We’re speeding up. Be prepared to die if you have to.” He turns his own horse, which is mostly calm. “Move.”

 

They ride well into the night. Masato takes the lead, taking in as much as he can, observing everything he can see at their too fast pace in the too-dim light.

They don’t see anything. There is nothing. Masato grits his teeth.

“That was recon,” Ranmaru says to him after they’ve stopped. The servants had made dinner and fallen asleep immediately, and Ren hasn’t appeared from the carriage yet, though he will have to at some point. Syo is asleep too. “What did they get from us?”

“That we’re trained,” Masato says. “Though I suspect they already knew there were trained soldiers here.”

He leaves the obvious unsaid – who it was who sent them. Ranmaru nods. “What else?”

“They’re going to attack tomorrow,” he predicts. “After tomorrow, we’re in far more populated areas. It’ll be far more dangerous for them. If they fail tomorrow, they’ll change tactics.”

“To what?” Ranmaru asks.

“Assassination,” Masato says. “The best case would be for him to be randomly killed by bandits on the road. Failing that, I’d make it look like there was a dispute with a member of the new household and he was killed in the fallout.”

“You’re seriously creepy,” Ranmaru mutters. “Right. So you think if we can get to the next town, we’ll be safe?”

“I think we’ll be safer,” Masato says. “Not necessarily safe.”

Ranmaru ponders. “No point worrying about it now,” he supposes. “Let me know if you think of anything else tomorrow.”

Masato bows and Ranmaru heads back into the carriage. Ren appears a moment later.

“Excuse me, Kage,” he says politely. “I need to relieve myself. I will only be a moment.”

Masato carefully doesn’t sigh and follows at as great a distance as he dares. Ren is back in a moment, and he stands and stares up at the sky for a moment.

“It’s cloudy,” he laments.

“That’s good,” Masato tells him. “It will be warmer if it is cloudy.”

Ren turns to him, cocks his head. “Yeah? Are you cold?”

Ren has always been pretty good with the cold. Masato has always been jealous of it, but Ren was always so warm that it hadn’t been hard for him to win his favour back.

“It is not pleasant,” Masato says. “Please return to the carriage now, Lord Jinguji. We will be waking early tomorrow too.”

Ren sighs. “Goodnight, Kage,” he says.

He sounds mournful.

 

Masato wakes Syo in the middle of the night, and it feels like no time at all has passed before Syo is shaking him awake.

“You misjudged,” Syo tells him. “I got more sleep than you.”

“It’s fine,” Masato rasps. “The town tonight will have guards. We can both sleep properly.”

He sits up, aching with cold and slightly dizzy. Syo hands him a bowl of rice, which is so bland as to be offensive, but it’s hot and Masato is glad for the heat spreading through him.

“Thank you,” he says. Syo looks down at him, concerned.

“You know, Kage,” he says. “If we all survive today, you should talk to him.”

Masato stares at his bowl. “Maybe I will,” he says.

 

Masato and Syo ride with their bows slung across their backs, which is uncomfortable and difficult, but will probably prove worth it. Ranmaru doesn’t even saddle his horse, instead handing its reins to one of the servants and climbing straight into the carriage with Ren.

Masato rides ahead of the carriage, and Syo takes the rear this time. It’s dull again today, the clouds low and heavy and the air is damp, cold, miserable. There’s barely any light, so no one sees the glint of light off a metal arrowhead until it’s almost too late.

“Everybody down,” Masato roars, and pulls his bow off his back. The arrow thuds harmlessly into the ground, but the next one catches his cloak and then the one after that lands between the hooves of his horse, spooking his usually calm mount.

He draws and fires, hears something yell in the forest. He can’t see any of the other attackers, can’t confirm how many there are or their positions.

The servants have fled for the trees, the man who had taken over driving the carriage the last to vanish into them. Ranmaru doesn’t open the carriage door.

The arrows keep coming. Masato deflects one with his forearm, and another misses by a hair. They’re all coming from two points though, so Masato can only assume there are two people with bows attacking them.

“Yusuke, take them out,” he says. “Stay on your horse.”

“Of course – oh.” Syo scowls into the forest. “Captain! This might get ugly.”

Masato leaps down from his horse, hangs his bow off the saddle and rolls his shoulders. There are four shadows in the forest that weren’t there a moment ago and Masato is sure there would be others if only he had time to look.

The shadows emerge, sprinting towards him and he flings the kunai in his hands with vicious precision. One goes down immediately. The other three that hit are ignored and Masato rolls his shoulders again, dislodges two more kunai into his hands and throws them too.

The first man reaches him and Masato draws the knife from his back, blocks his first strike and cuts his throat with another kunai in a second. He dies quickly. The second and third reach him at the same time, and a moment later the fourth one is on him too.

Individually, these are all good fighters, and if Masato had to fight them all one after another he’d eventually get tired and make a mistake, and he would die. But like this, they have to be careful not to hit each other and Masato has no such reservations and has been trained to deal with situations like this, so he deals with it. His arms are horribly bruised under his protectors and he’s definitely been slashed up but he can barely feel it, and then he’s got a little room to breathe and he’s drawing his sword.

Masato had been particularly good at swordwork when he had been younger, which was why his father had been so determined to send him to become a pupil of Saotome’s. It had paid off.

Ranmaru doesn’t open the door to help, thankfully, and Masato has no time to think about the two of them trapped in their carriage listening to people die. Syo is swearing above him somewhere, a string of expletives that make his head spin, or maybe that’s the blood loss. Masato kicks one of his attackers in the chest and stabs another in the thigh, slams the hilt of his knife between a third’s eyes and the fourth goes down on his own. He must have been one of the three Masato had originally hit with a kunai. The poison is sometimes slow to act.

“Yusuke!” he shouts. There’s blood in his mouth. “Yusuke, report!”

“Both incapacitated,” Syo calls back. “Unsure if actually wounded.”

“Roger,” says Masato. “Go and check.”

Syo looks over to him, worried. “You sure?” he asks. “You don’t look so good, Kage.”

“The captain is here,” Masato says. “I will be fine.”

Syo climbs off his horse and hangs up his own bow, and disappears into the trees. The servants are barely visible at the edges of the forest, peeking around the trees in horror at the bloodbath. Masato picks his sword up and cleans it as best he can, then sheathes it and begins collecting the various weapons he had dropped.

Syo reappears a few moments later. “One’s dead, and the other left a puddle of blood,” he says. “I don’t think he’ll be back any time soon.”

“Excellent work, Yusuke,” Masato says, and passes out.

 

He wakes up in a lot of pain.

He forces his eyes open and tries to sit up but a large, warm hand lands on the centre of his chest and presses him flat. They’re in a carriage, he can tell from the motion, and the light is flickering and dim.

“Don’t get up,” Ren says above him. “You’re pretty beat up.”

“Lord Jinguji,” Masato rasps. “What’s going on?”

“Stay down and shut up,” Ranmaru says from somewhere Masato can’t see. “Your dumb ass lost a lot of blood, that’s what’s going on. You nearly died.”

“Are we safe?” Masato asks.

“Yeah,” Ranmaru sighs. “Yeah, we’re fine. Do something smarter next time.”

Masato gets ready to argue, but then decides it can wait for later. He’s in a lot of pain. His ribs ache, and his arms are battered and bruised. His calf hurts a lot more than it should, and he’s dizzy even lying down.

“How is Yusuke?” he manages.

“Better than you are,” Ranmaru tells him, and opens the door, letting in a blast of freezing air. Masato shivers. “Oi, Yusuke! Kage’s awake.”

Syo shouts something back that Masato can’t make out, and Ranmaru shuts the door. “He says fuck you for nearly dying.”

“How far to the town?” Masato asks.

“Not long,” comes Ranmaru’s curt reply. “You’ve been asleep since yesterday. It’s nearly sunrise, and we’ll arrive by noon.”

“Did we travel through the night?” Masato asks.

“We stopped for a few hours,” Ren says. His hand is still on Masato’s chest. It’s far too much to hope that Ranmaru can’t see it, but he hopes anyway. “Do you want something to eat?”

“May I have something to drink?” he asks.

Ren nods and finally lets go of him. Masato tries to move his arms but it hurts his chest and Ren seizes his wrists and pins them.

“Don’t move,” he says. There’s something panicked in his voice. “Stay still. I’ll help.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Masato says. He hopes he’s lost enough blood that he’s not blushing. “I can eat unaided.”

“Don’t,” says Ranmaru. “Your wounds are pretty terrible.”

There’s something vindictive in his voice that Masato absolutely won’t call him out on, but it rankles all the same.

Ren shuffles a cushion under his head and holds up a canteen of water, ice-cold from the freezing air. He carefully tilts Masato’s head, lets it trickle into his dry mouth until Masato has had enough.

“Thanks,” Masato mutters, and Ren smirks at him, but it’s shaky.

“You’ll be alright,” he says, quietly. “You’ve got a lot of wounds, but none of them are that bad. We’ll see a doctor tomorrow, and you’ll be alright with some rest.”

“Of course, Lord Jinguji,” Masato says. Ren hums quietly, reaches out to pull another blanket over him.

“Go to sleep, Kage,” he says, so Masato does.

 

He wakes up on a futon, indoors. There’s a lamp in one corner throwing the room into orange relief, and Ren is sat on the floor across from him, strumming his koto.

“Lord Jinguji,” Masato manages. Ren looks up at him.

“You’re awake,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“I will be fine,” Masato says, after a moment’s consideration. “I don’t think I will be much use on the rest of the trip, however. It might be wiser to leave me here.”

Ren laughs softly. “Perhaps you are right. Or perhaps you could figure out who sent the assassins.”

Masato’s jaw clenches. “Someone who knew about your journey. Someone who knew its route and when you would pass certain landmarks. Someone who has reason to want you dead.”

Ren tilts his head. “I could have you executed for that.”

“You could,” Masato agrees.

Ren teases at the strings of his instrument. The sound lingers in the air, soft and warm. Masato’s eyes fall shut on their own.

“Do you still play?” Ren asks. Masato shakes his head.

“I had no time to practice,” he says. “It is a shame.”

He can hear Ren’s smile in his voice. “You always did push yourself too hard,” he says. “And now you are hurt.”

“I am,” Masato says. “But you are not.”

He hears Ren moving across the room, and every instinct hammered into Masato screams at him to open his eyes – when Ren’s footfalls approach him and when they go silent, right beside him, and when he kneels down on the futon beside him and cups Masato’s face with a smooth warm hand.

“I was scared,” Ren admits. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Masato opens his eyes at that. “My duty is to keep you safe,” he says. “I cannot protect myself at your expense.”

“You and your duty,” Ren sighs. “Will you ever value anything as much?”

He doesn’t seem to expect an answer, and Masato doesn’t have one. He reaches up to put his hand over Ren’s.

“Thank you for bandaging my wounds,” he says. “Are these your clothes?”

They are. They’re too nice to be anything but. Ren laughs a little.

“You were covered in blood,” he says. “We couldn’t bring you in here like that.”

“Of course not,” Masato says. “And the captain and Yusuke?”

“In the next room,” says Ren. “Sleeping, both of them. They didn’t sleep last night.”

Of course not. It would have been far too dangerous, especially with Masato out of commission. He worries at his lip, considering.

“I wonder how long we can stay here for,” he mutters. “We are expected, but if we can put off leaving for another day, everyone will benefit.”

Ren smooths a hand over his hair, strokes it gently. “Shh, Masa,” he sighs. “Rest, at least for now. This town is safe. We’re all safe.”

Masato gives in. Ren’s voice is gentle, wrapping around him warmly. He breathes out slowly.

“May I have something to eat?” he asks. He’s not sure how hungry he is, but he knows he hasn’t eaten for at least a day and he’s been injured enough that he has to eat something.

Ren nods. “Alright. I’ll fetch someone.”

Masato watches as he leaves the room, and then as he returns a few minutes later holding a tray with a steaming bowl on it.

“What time is it?” Masato asks.

“Past midnight,” says Ren. “You slept for a long time.”

He sounds light, deceptively unworried. Masato is not fooled at all. Ren kneels on the futon beside him and sets the tray down between them.

“Are you going to let me feed you, or are we going to argue about it?” Ren asks. Masato scowls at him, and shifts around, looking for a cushion.

“I don’t need you to feed me,” he insists. Ren sighs and slides the futon over so Masato can lean against one of the wooden support beams making up the wall, and puts the tray on his lap.

“So prideful,” Ren sighs. “You’d never let me get away with that.”

“You are a terrible judge of how sick you are,” Masato tells him archly.

Ren smiles fondly. “That may be true,” he says. Masato raises the spoon to his mouth and swallows. Immediately he realises he’s starving, and gulps down the rest of the porridge. For the first time in days he’s truly warm, and he can feel strength returning from just that.

There’s no doubt in his mind that the Daimyo sent those assassins to kill Ren, which can only mean that Ren’s life will be in danger until either he dies, or something happens to the Daimyo.

“You’re thinking again,” Ren says.

“You should try it some time,” Masato tells him. “I am considering our next moves.”

“You’re the strategist,” Ren says. It’s not a question. Masato nods.

“I am. Strategy and research are my focus.” There is no way Masato can kill the Daimyo. For one thing, it would take two days to travel back to him, and Ren would be at risk the whole time. For another, he is injured enough to hinder his work. He’d be killed before he finished the job.

Negotiating is off the table. Negotiating would mean admitting that he suspected the Daimyo, and he would be killed for that. So would Ren, actually, and the Daimyo wouldn’t even have to use underhanded methods to kill him this time. Plain old execution would be fine, because Ren would be considered part of a conspiracy, or something to that effect.

His porcelain spoon clinks against the bottom of his bowl and Ren takes it from him, carefully. There’s something very strange about being waited on by nobility, and yet it’s not strange at all. This is Ren. Ren has cared for him a thousand times before, in a hundred different ways.

“I missed you,” he blurts. “Every day.”

“Don’t,” says Ren. His back is still turned, facing the table he’d set the empty bowl on. “Please. Don’t.”

Masato bites his tongue. “My apologies,” he manages.

Ren turns back to him, smiling brightly. “Well, it’s late, and I’m tired,” he says. “Shuffle down and let me put the futon back near the coals.”

It is colder in this part of the room. Masato lies back down and Ren slides the futon over to the furnace as smoothly as he can, and Masato is only barely jostled.

Ren removes his layers, one by one, leaving him in only the thinnest layer he had on underneath everything else. Masato doesn’t look. He thinks about looking.

Ren puts out the lantern and slides under the covers beside Masato. There’s a moment of movement before he’s comfortable, and then he’s close enough that Masato can feel his warmth, leaking through into him.

“It’s been a while since we shared a bed,” Ren says, mostly to himself. Masato aches to reach out and hold his hand.

“Hey, Ren,” he whispers into the darkness. There are a thousand things he wants to ask. There are a thousand things he doesn’t want the answer to. “Do you want this?”

Ren doesn’t answer for a long time. When he does, he sounds so much older than he is. “You know that doesn't matter. Sleep.”

Masato does.

 

He wakes early the next morning, earlier than Ren does. He takes a moment to look at him, asleep in the futon beside him, more beautiful than he’d been years ago when Masato had said goodbye to him.

There’s something of a plan forming in his head, something outrageous, more a desperate wish than anything solid. But he knows what he wants, and he knows what has the highest probability of keeping Ren alive. The issue lies with Ren's justifiable anger at him.

He reaches out to stroke Ren’s hair from his face. In the dull half-light it’s more brown than gold, but still fine and soft. Ren sighs against his wrist. His eyes crack open.

Masato watches Ren watch him. He seems to be struggling. After a moment, he sits up, letting the covers fall away from him.

“You hungry?” he asks. “I’ll go get food brought up.”

His voice is raspy. He never was a morning person, not when they were children and Masato would rush to wake him up so they could play in the lakes before they had to separate and attend morning lessons, not when they were teenagers and Masato woke him up so they could have a few moments together before they had to pretend to be strangers.

“Thank you,” Masato says distantly. He’s got a plan. He’s not sure Ren will want it.

Ren reappears carrying a tray with two steaming bowls on it, and he sets it down on the futon.

“Stay down,” he sighs. “You can’t get up just yet.”

Masato is forced to agree with him, and submits to eating on the futon again. Ren at least sits properly this time, kneeling on the other side of the tray. The food is hot and it’s better than anything Masato has eaten for days, and he gulps it down greedily. He tries not to see Ren grinning into his bowl.

“Where are the captain and Yusuke?” Masato asks halfway through the meal.

Ren glances up. “Downstairs,” he says. “I told them you were more likely to stay in bed if there was no one else there.”

Masato has to admit he’s right. “Your life will be in danger so long as your brother knows you’re alive,” he says.

“So we’re doing this,” Ren says. “I had – never mind.”

“It’s not pleasant,” Masato says quietly. “I know you never got along, but I am sorry it came to this.”

“Thank you,” Ren sighs. “You’ve got a plan?”

Masato nods. “I have a couple of plans,” he admits. “And they can be worked with. It depends on what you want.”

“To stay alive, ideally,” Ren mutters. “Why, what are you thinking?”

Masato almost loses his nerve there. Ren’s face is perfectly serious, not at all thinking about Masato breaking his heart or about any kind of a future.

“If we can convince your brother than you are dead, he will stop sending assassins,” Masato says. “I propose that we fake your death, and then you leave and head north.”

“You’d ask me to leave behind everything I know?” Ren asks, stricken. “Seek out a new life entirely alone?”

He has to do this. “I would be willing to go with you,” he says. “In whatever capacity you desired.”

Ren stares at him for a beat. “I can’t believe you,” he says eventually. “You left. You made your choice years ago. You don’t just get to change your mind like that.”

Masato bows his head. “I know. This is not fair to you. I am sorry it has come to this. But to ask Yusuke or the captain to run away with you would be too much.”

“Of course it would,” Ren snaps. “But that doesn’t mean you can just – something like that – you’re unbearably cruel.”

“What good would it have done for me to have stayed?” Masato asks. “I would have earned the scorn of my family, and you would have been sent away to be married anyway. You know I couldn’t have stayed.”

“I know that!” Ren snaps. “I know that, and I know nothing could have lasted between us, but now you want to try again?”

Masato heaves himself onto his knees, and plants his forehead on the backs of his hands. “I’m not sorry I left,” he says. “I am sorry I couldn’t think of a way to stay. I'm sorry I hurt you. But please let me go with you, at least until you have settled somewhere else. I’ll leave as soon as you want me to, you won’t even have to see me. But please let me protect you until you are safe.”

“You’re the worst,” Ren says. “Just the worst. You know I won’t want you to leave. You know I’ll never let you go, not if you don’t force me to.”

Masato doesn’t look up. His ribs ache, crushed like this, and his arm is sore and his blood is going to his head, but he can’t let Ren run away alone, and there is no one else who will protect him.

“Get up,” Ren sighs. “You’re hurt. Get up.”

Masato unfolds himself, not letting his pain show on his face. Ren notices anyway, and sighs again.

“Could we have been normal,” he wonders. “If one of us had been born a girl, we could have married.”

“I don’t think so,” Masato says. “You are still a Daimyo’s child, and I would still be your servant.”

Ren smiles a little. “That’s true,” he says. “I guess we still would have had to run away.”

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Masato says. “You don’t ever have to forgive me. But please allow me to get you to safety. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Ren nods, slowly. “I'm not going to forgive you,” he says. “But I will go along with your plan.”

Masato bows again, presses his forehead to the futon, ignores the ache in his body. “Thank you,” he breathes.

 

Masato leaves the inn in much the same way he came in – on a stretcher, unnaturally still, followed by a distressed Ren.

“He passed in the night,” he hears Ranmaru telling the innkeeper. “Where’s the nearest funeral home?”

His voice is thick. Masato holds his breath under the sheet they’d covered him in and listens to the innkeeper give his condolences, and directions.

Masato sits up once the carriage door is shut. Syo is driving the carriage, so it’s only the three of them inside.

“Are you sure about this, Masato?” Ranmaru asks He looks uncomfortable. “It’s gonna be a real blow to lose you.”

“I am sure,” Masato says. “I am sorry to leave.”

He’s always leaving. He has nothing personal on him to ask Ranmaru to give his sister, nothing to leave to her in death. All of his belongings are military property. She will have nothing to mourn with.

The carriage stops, and Syo opens the door.

“Lie down, idiot. You’re gonna be seen.” he says. He’s not looking at Masato.

“Kurusu,” Masato says. “It has been an honour to work with you.”

Syo glares at him, eyes suspiciously wet. “Shut up! I’m fine.”

Masato lies back down and covers himself with the sheet, and Ren tucks it around him.

“You were a pretty interesting guy, Hijirikawa,” Syo says. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Masato doesn’t react. The stretcher he’s on jostles, and then he’s being lifted into sunlight. He slows his breathing, goes entirely still.

“Good morning,” Ranmaru says, gruff. “We’ve got a situation.”

“So I see,” the funeral director says. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ranmaru mutters. “Look, you don’t need to get to this guy too soon. Give it a few hours at least. Days, maybe.” His voice is thick with implications.

Masato hears metal clinking, what is presumably coins being handed over, and then he’s being settled onto a flat hard surface. The sheet remains over him.

And then the footsteps leave, and Masato is alone.

 

He dozes intermittently through the day. It’s too noisy to get much sleep though, and it’d be dangerous to try. He drifts, hoping his injuries knit together enough to hold by the time he has to leave.

Eventually, the shop closes up and the director and his employees leave. Masato sits up and looks around, and wrinkles his nose. He was, of course, left next to the other undressed corpses, all of which have been covered in sheets. He folds his own sheet up and leaves it with the other dirty sheets, and then shifts the stretchers around so it’s less obvious that there’s a gap where he was. He’s not trying to _fool_ them per se, but they’ve been bribed to turn a blind eye, not to actually cover for them if anyone comes asking after his death. It’s better for all of them if they don’t notice he’s missing.

There are eight corpses, and him, and when he’s done the difference is unnoticeable. He pulls his mask up, and creeps out of the shop.

Ranmaru had said he’d leave provisions outside the village, and Masato makes for the agreed upon tree. Ranmaru had described it as a ‘fuck-ugly lightning stump’, and he wasn’t wrong. There’s money and a little food wrapped in a blanket hidden in the blackened hollow, and Masato unhooks it gratefully and climbs down.

He needs a horse, ideally. A samurai in this area won’t stand out too badly, but it’s still a risk. But first, he has to get as far away from the village he died in as possible, even though no one saw his face.

He ties the pack to his back and begins running.

 

By dawn he’s exhausted. He’s hungry too, but he’s run past several farms that indicate that he’ll be able to buy a horse somewhere.

Soon into the day, he comes across a small hamlet, little more than a few farms and a well in closer proximity than usual. He stops by the well to draw some more water – it’s too heavy to carry while he’s running, so he’s been dependant on the streams he’s passed.

He sits on the floor and watches as the people come alive. A woman waves to him, cheerily, and a boy no more than seven asks what he’s doing there.

“Resting,” Masato tells him. “I’ve been travelling for a long time. It’s nice to be somewhere busy.”

The boy scratches his head. “It’s not busy here,” he says, and wanders off. Masato fights a smile. He doesn’t really interact with children in his line of work, and it’s been a long time since Mai was so young.

He stands and stretches out his sore muscles, and goes to enquire about a horse, and maybe a change of clothes.

 

Masato reaches the town near Ren’s new home a day later. Everyone is buzzing with excitement for the wedding, and Masato smiles politely and agrees with the innkeeper when she assumes he travelled from out of town to see the bridal parade.

He puts the horse in a stable and pays the stablehands to keep him for a week. Then he makes an effort to blend in with the other excited civilians. There are a lot of travellers in this fairly large town, so he doesn’t have to work too hard at it.

At night, he sneaks into the lord’s grounds.

There are guards at the entrance, but they’re so ineffective as to be laughable, at least where Masato is concerned. His ribs still pull a little but he’s almost perfectly healthy, and he spent the day resting.

From there he slips into the inner courtyard unseen, and explores as silently as he can. He can’t open any doors, of course, but he can learn the basic layout of the place. It’s big, and opulent, and Masato wonders if Ren will even want to leave.

Ren is unused to hardships and the life Masato is proposing will be hard, at least at first. He will struggle, but he will survive.

He listens carefully, but there is nothing to indicate which rooms belong to who. If only Ren would play his koto, Masato could find him. But he doesn’t, and Masato is left none the wiser.

He sneaks out in the dead of night, having learned the guards’ shift patterns, and heads back to his inn. He smacks his cheeks a couple of times and staggers in as though he’s been out drinking, and the innkeeper tuts at him and shoos him to his room.

The next day he does the same thing, but much earlier, as soon as the sun sets. He hides under the house beneath the dining room, and listens carefully for Ren’s voice during dinner.

Ren doesn’t speak much, which isn’t like him. He does though, a little, and something in Masato’s chest unclenches when he hears his voice. Ren is fine.

Dinner ends and the family disperse, and Masato scowls when Ren leaves without making any more noise. He crawls out from under the house and finds a perch in the inner courtyard, and waits. It’s still earlier than he came yesterday, so the house is still awake, and he can listen in on the servants gossiping and track the family members.

The lord is an obnoxious man, as they often are. His wife is quiet, as they often are. The sons and daughters are pampered and spoiled, but not particularly unpleasant.

It’s a little unusual, Masato concludes, the way things are happening. Usually, the bride would move in with her husband-to-be, but Ren has been displaced instead. No one has offered him a reason as to why this is happening though, so Masato has to just accept it.

Masato narrows down the rooms likely to be Ren’s to five rooms, then four, and finally he’s sat staring at two rooms on opposite sides of the house, naturally.

No one moves. It will be dangerous to stay here during the day, but the clouds are low and heavy, and if he stays where he is, hidden in the eaves, he might not be seen.

He will be hungry though.

Masato grits his teeth. It will be far too difficult to escape during the day, but days are short. He can wait this out.

The servants rise before dawn. They twitter about, chirping and cheerful, and Masato waits in agony for Ren to appear. Finally he does, finally he slides back one of the doors Masato was watching and squints up at the sky.

A single brief glimpse of Ren is all he gets, and then Ren is striding off into another room and the door slides shut behind him, and Masato has to wait for darkness before moving.

Honestly, he’s been lucky that no one has been sent to kill Ren while he was still figuring out his position in the house. He would have noticed someone else snooping about, so he can only assume the Daimyo is biding his time. He will want Ren killed before his wedding night, though. If Ren manages to impregnate his wife, that will be another problem for the Daimyo to deal with.

Masato runs the numbers in his head. He’d been injured a week ago, and Ren had arrived at this town three days after they’d left the village. The assassins who had attacked him could have ridden back to the Daimyo within two days, and it would take another four days of hard riding for them to arrive here. Six day makes their arrival last night, at the earliest.

So the attack will be soon.

 

Masato slips down from the eaves of the house as soon as darkness falls and there’s a lull. He sprints out of there and heads straight back to the inn. He’s starving, and if he’s going to be of any use to Ren, he’ll need to have eaten.

He eats as much as he dares, and then sleeps for as long as he dares, which is barely enough time for the moon to rise behind the clouds.

He dresses in his practical shinobi clothes and arms himself to the teeth with all of the weapons Ranmaru had left for him, and heads out to the lord’s house. He finds a perch in a tree just close enough to the property to see it, overlooking Ren’s rooms, and waits.

A light flickers on, and then off, and Masato creeps closer. In the silence, he thinks he can hear Ren humming, though that may just be wishful thinking.

Nothing happens.

Nothing happens in Ren’s room, but Masato makes out a shadow slinking through the darkness. It’s only there for a moment, but he’s absolutely certain.

The assassin knows where Ren is.

 

As soon as the shadow had vanished Masato had slunk away, back to the inn he’d been staying in, to sleep as many hours as he can. Ren’s wedding is scheduled for next week. The assassin has plenty of time, but he’ll almost certainly strike at night. It’s so much harder to hide in daylight, and a household of that size would recognise any unknown servants. Masato had considered trying that, briefly, but a single look at the house had dissuaded him.

He sleeps deeply, despite his jangling nerves. Ren has to be safe. Ren has to be safe during the day, because Masato can’t possibly guard him all the time.

He wakes up some time in the middle of the afternoon and eats, checks over his weapons and takes stock of everything. The mole under his eye makes him too distinctive to flee at a moment’s notice – if he vanishes the night of the murder he’ll be remembered, and if someone comes asking about him faking his death will have been in vain. He’ll have to wait an extra couple of nights.

The innkeeper frowns at him when he makes an appearance. “You keep terrible hours, sir,” she says. “You would do better to wake early.”

“I know,” Masato laughs. “I can’t help myself.”

He browses the markets, wanders around the town, familiarises himself with everything. He’s antsy, itching to just grab Ren and leave this place, but that would be unwise, he knows.

This impatience is unlike him. He gnaws on his lip, an old bad habit, and forces himself to wait.

 

This time he chooses a perch even closer to Ren’s room. It might be unwise, but he’s too anxious at the thought of leaving Ren undefended against an attacker not to be as close as he can.

The stars are out tonight, which make it easier to see and be seen. Masato breathes, slow and even, moulded to the darkness, a shadow waiting to pounce.

The light in Ren’s room comes on, and Masato watches it flicker for what seems like forever. Then the light goes out, and Masato is left staring at a blank paper door.

The moon reaches its peak and starts sinking before a shadow creeps onto the grounds, past Masato’s tree and up onto the veranda. Masato follows as closely as he dares, pauses when he does to slide open the door to Ren’s room. He moves silently, a professional. Masato would be impressed at his training, but doesn’t care enough to be.

The shadow steps into Ren’s room, and notices Masato a half-second too late. Masato hits him over the head as hard as he can, and catches him when he crumples.

“Ren,” he hisses. “Ren, wake up!”

Ren bolts upright, scrabbling in the dark. “Who – Masa?”

“Shh,” Masato breathes. “Shh, it’s me. Get up and get ready to go.”

Ren stands up. Masato can see better in the dark than him and it’s hard for him to make anything out, but Ren moves away from the futon with ease and bends to pick up his discarded clothes.

Masato drops the unconscious man to the futon and strips off his clothes until he’s only in his innermost layer. Then he breathes out a prayer in a rush and slits his throat.

He stands back and bows, once, quickly, and frowns around the room.

“What have you got to start a fire?” he asks. Ren pulls out several probably expensive clothes and some scraps of paper, and Masato dumps them onto the corpse with the clothes he'd taken from him, and sets them alight using the sparks thrown off of two kunai.

“Got everything you want?” Masato asks quietly. The sparks crackle and the floor catches fire. Good. It’ll spread then, and render the body unrecognisable.

“Yes,” says Ren. “What now?”

“Now, we run,” says Masato.

 

The guards are all panicked, trying to put out the fire, so even with an untrained civilian in tow it’s not too hard for Masato to find a break and slip through their lines. Ren follows silently, all his possessions in a pack in his hand. Masato leads him out to the forest surrounding the town, and tells him to wait.

“Don’t move,” he says. “I’m serious. You cannot leave this spot. I’ll come by tomorrow at about noon.”

“What are you doing?” Ren asks. “Why can’t we go now?”

Masato points to the mole under his eye. “I’m establishing that I’m innocent,” he says. “If the innkeeper thinks I’m suspicious, she’ll remember me, and describe me to anyone who asks. And if it gets out I’m alive, your brother might get suspicious of your death.”

“He’ll be suspicious anyway,” Ren says. “The assassin will have been meant to report back to him.”

“Yes,” Masato says. “But at least we’ll be far away by the time it dawns on him to worry. I don’t want to give him any extra fuel.”

Ren clutches his pack to his chest. “Fine,” he says. “Come back soon.”

He looks like a lost child. “I will. As soon as I can.”

It hurts to leave him there, and moreover it feels like an incredibly stupid decision. But if Ren is seen in the village after his supposed death, the whole thing will have been for nothing. And if Masato isn’t seen in the village after Ren’s death, he’ll be suspicious too.

He unloads his weapons and leaves them in a bundle on the floor beside Ren. It would be beyond foolish to be caught with them on him on such a chaotic night. Then he sprints back to the village and sneaks in easily enough. The guards are in a frenzy. The fire had spread and three people are injured, Masato is pleased to hear.

“S’mad out there,” he slurs to the innkeeper. “They’re saying someone was killed.”

He had heard someone screaming that, but they hadn’t said who or how, so he leaves those details out.

“How terrible!” the woman exclaims. “Honestly, it’s far too dangerous to be out at night! You really should keep better hours.”

Masato smiles blearily at her. “I think I’ll try taking your advice,” he says, and hiccups. “Which means I need to sleep now, right?”

“Right, right, off to bed with you!” she exclaims, making shooing motions. The laughter bubbling in Masato’s chest isn’t totally faked. She’s a nice woman.

He stumbles into his room, making his movements as loud and clumsy as possible, and collapses onto his futon. Ren does not have a futon tonight, only a blanket in the cold.

It’s for the best, he thinks to himself. It’s safest this way.

He doesn’t sleep very well though, and he wakes up early, anxious at the thought of Ren alone in the forest. Ren has no idea how to survive alone.

He stumbles downstairs, where the innkeeper’s husband is tending the reception.

“Good morning,” Masato yawns. “Have you heard any news about last night?”

“I’m afraid it’s all bad news,” the man says. “The Daimyo’s young brother was murdered last night.”

“How terrible!” Masato exclaims. “Did they catch who did it?”

“Not yet, but they’re sure he hasn’t got far,” the man confides. “It’s caused chaos.”

Masato frowns at the books, as though deep in thought. “I only came here for the wedding,” he says, eventually. “I feel terrible, that poor man got killed, but there’s really nothing keeping me here.”

“You’re the fourth person we’ve had say that today,” the innkeeper’s husband sighs. “I suppose it’s to be expected. No one wants to stay in a town with a killer on the loose.”

“It’s very scary,” Masato agrees, and fumbles in his sleeves for his coin purse. “Please thank your wife for her advice. She kept telling me not to be out so late, and she was right.”

The man laughs. “She often is,” he says. “Right, so you’ve been paying by the day, meaning you only owe a day’s worth.”

Masato hands over the money. He’s going to run out soon, but Ren should have some, and they’ll manage for a few days without.

“Thank you very much for your patronage!” the man says cheerfully. “Safe travels.”

“Thank you very much,” Masato says, bowing, and leaves the inn.

He heads to the stables he left his horse at, and claims him back. A horse will be useful travelling, and if the worst happens, they can eat it.

He thinks about Ren eating horse, and fights back a snort. That will be the day.

He leaves the town without trouble, the pack with his change of clothes in it slung over his horse's back. The guards search it, but of course Masato has nothing dangerous on him, and is quickly allowed out of the town.

It’s long before noon when he finds Ren again. He makes for a pitiful figure, curled up under his blanket in the cold, and Masato shakes him awake.

“Wake up,” he says, unable to stop the warmth from leaking into his voice. “Ren, wake up.”

He opens his eyes unwillingly. “Masato? Did it work?”

“You’re dead,” Masato tells him. “You’re dead, and the killer got away.”

Ren smiles, unguarded. “I’m safe.”

“You are,” Masato says. “You’re safe, but we’ve got to go now.”

Ren stands up and folds his blanket, tucks it away into the pack he must have had prepared for their escape. Then he holds out Masato’s sword.

“I told the family it belonged to a dear friend of mine who had died,” Ren says. “They let me hang onto it.”

Masato blinks. He had somehow missed Ren carrying it away from the scene of his death last night. He takes the sword with careful hands.

“Thank you,” he says, and bows at the waist. Ren laughs, embarrassed.

“You’re always so formal,” he says. “Come on. You said we need to go.”

“We do,” Masato agrees. “We do, but I need to say something first.”

Ren turns to him, quizzical. “What?” he asks. “If it’s another apology, save it. I’m not a child, I get that you had no choice.”

“I know,” says Masato. “This is a promise. I will never leave you again, not until you ask me to. I will kill myself first.”

Ren cocks his head and looks at him, looks through him. Masato is sure he’d already made that clear, but he needed to say so in as many words. He feels better now.

“You have to make everything a production,” Ren says eventually. “I know you won’t leave me. You said you would keep me safe.”

“I am swearing it,” Masato says evenly. “I will never leave. That is all.”

“Never?” Ren asks. “You can’t promise never.”

“I promise,” Masato says stubbornly. “I swear it.”

Ren sighs and shakes his head. “Alright. I’ll accept it.”

Masato hangs his sword at his waist, and Ren takes the reins of the horse, and they begin heading back towards the road.

“Where are we going?” Ren asks.

Masato hums. “Far away,” he says. “North.”

“You hate the cold,” Ren says. “Is that wise?”

“Perhaps not,” Masato admits. “But it will be spring soon, and I will adjust.”

Ren nods, and they push through some low-hanging vines onto a trodden path. “If you’re sure it’s for the best,” he says. “I guess I’m in your care from here on out.”

Something warm lights up in Masato’s stomach at those words. Ren is his to protect. Ren is his.

“Yes,” Masato says. “You are.”

**Author's Note:**

> this au owns my soul


End file.
